


No Saviours

by Saxifactumterritum



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post Episode: s03e09 Phantoms, gentle angst, i have no clue what to tag this, too many tags, violence and death are in the past and as in canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 11:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20545538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: after phantoms John and Rodney are both a bit out of sorts.Rodney finds John on one of the walkways, high above the city...





	No Saviours

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: grief, Rodney got shot by John in the episode he is unsettled by that, nightmares
> 
> with snuggles

Rodney finds John on one of the walkways, high above the city. It’s been raining, everything is grey and wet and darker grey, but looking out Atlantis is still beautiful. There are veils of mist and water, shades of blue barely a sheen, rain still falling. The light’s coming softer, golden, the storm gentling. John’s leaning on the rail, but as Rodney puffs up the last steps he comes to sudden, sharp attention, heels thunking. He holds it for a moment before saluting and moving to parade rest, each movement so crisp and precise. Rodney’s never really seen him move like that. Other soldiers, sure, but John’s always been lackadaisical, or just a little slow to it, just a little sloppy. 

“Hey,” Rodney says, joining him. 

“I was just… saying goodbye to a friend,” John says, relaxing, hands falling loose to his sides, weight shifting onto one hip. 

“Captain Lyle Holland. He was awarded the Air Force Cross, posthumously, for gallantry,” Rodney says; he checked files. He has a lot more facts, but John already looks like he has something to say.

“He was shot down while laying covering fire,” John says. “I flew SAR missions with him for three years, knew him far longer.”

“What was he like?” Rodney asks, leaning his back on the rail, watching the rain come down. Looking this way, he can see out over the ocean, waves breaking against the piers of the city. 

“He was a sarcastic, cynical bastard, but he had,” John pauses, frowning, searching for a word. “Faith. He had a lot of faith. In people, in the good in the world, in me.”

“We’re pretty much at the limits of my knowing what to say,” Rodney admits. 

“There isn’t anything to say, Rodney. He died, that's it,” John says, voice soft and rough. “I thought he was brilliant.”

Rodney nods. He’s stood close to John, a foot or so between them, facing opposite directions. The rain intensifies in the silence, beating down on the thin roof covering the walkway, blowing in over them. It should be miserable up here, the weather pathetic fallacy, but the sun comes out brighter as the rain falls harder and every drop of water is a prism of light and it’s beautiful. John doesn’t say anything else but doesn’t look ready to move inside. Rodney keeps him company, watching the sea, watching John’s face. He waits until the lines around his eyes and mouth ease before reaching out, taking his hand. John doesn’t look at him but his fingers tighten, cold and damp and calloused. 

The sun is slowly moving toward the horizon, the afternoon wearing out toward evening. It’s peaceful, standing up here with nothing pressing, nothing dragging their attention away. They’ve been back on Atlantis for a day since they failed to save Major Leonard on M1B-129, they have finished with debriefing and post-mission checks, Rodney’s arm throbs and aches where he was shot, they’re all off-duty for now, off the mission rosta. Rodney’s glad of it, for himself and for John, who looks worn out. At peace, but tired and weary with it. 

“He was so beautiful,” John murmurs, closing his eyes, half his mouth curling up like when he’s fighting a smile. “I loved him, I never said, and then he died. I’m so fucking sorry about that.”

“Let me take you home,” Rodney says, pushing himself straight, stepping closer into John’s space. “It’s cold.”

John finally looks at Rodney. His eyes are blue-green, clouds of brown around the iris, bright with sorrow. He’s lovely in his grief, softened. Rodney lifts their joined hands and rests his fingers against John’s cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch. 

“Let me take you inside,” Rodney says, barely a breath between them now.

John takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, looking out. Rodney waits for him to turn, body bending toward the steps down, then unlinks their heads and heads that way, shoulder brushing John as he passes. John falls in behind him, hands in his pockets. They leave the view and the rain and the ocean, and Rodney imagines it, a thread snapping, disconnecting them from the past - they leave Holland there, amongst the shards of light. 

John is quiet, following Rodney to his rooms in silence and changing into sweats and a dry tee in silence when Rodney points out that he's damp and that ‘damp’ is a nice way of saying ‘wet’. Rodney gets him a towel for his hair and changes his own clothes while John checks in with Major Lorne on the radio. There seems to be a minor snafu with an incoming gate team but nothing major that demands John's personal attention. He stretches out in the bed afterwards while Rodney potters about putting things away, checking email, skimming an old report that Radek's requesting more detail on. 

“I'm hungry,” John says.

He gets up and pushes his feet into his boots, heading out before Rodney can get it together to go with. Rodney expects that to be that, unless he wants to go ferret John out again from wherever he's gone to isolate himself, so Rodney finishes putzing with work he doesn’t need to look at and searches the expedition shared net to find a movie. There's a limited selection uploaded, there's still a solid black- market trade in new DVDs, Rodney's seen everything here so many times but he sets up Lord of the Rings anyway. That one lost value within the first year out here and Sargent Wex, who owned the DVD, uploaded it in return for the chitties John gives out for free sharing of entertainment. 

They're round pieces of what they call Ancient plastic, no one knows where he gets them, his men can use them to exchange duties, push back briefings, officers use them to get out of administrative duties sometimes. Rodney has loads of them, he pockets a handful whenever he sees them lying around John's office or quarters. He has no military duties so they're worthless in that sense, he uses them to bribe John's men. John hasn't noticed yet, or he doesn't care. Rodney promises six, now, to anyone who'll bring him hot food, popcorn and coffee, using the channel the marines hacked that they think ‘the brass’ (two majors and one lite Colonel hardly count but out here they get the label anyway) don't know about. Major Lorne knows and listens in now and then and Rodney keeps Lorne's secret in return for monthly chocolate. Corporal Felicity Carmichael calls dibs on the task and shows up ten minutes later with a tray. 

“I don't suppose the Colonel was in the canteen?” Rodney asks. 

“Didn't see him, sir,” Carmichael says, waiting expectantly for payment. Rodney hands over the smoothe discs and she slides them into a pocket, grinning. “Sarge has me on scientist-babysitting at the mainland all week, this'll get me out of the boredom, thanks doc.”

Rodney sends her on her way and makes himself comfortable with his food and his movie, resigned to going out later to find John again or letting him sleep wherever he's holed up. It's tempting to just leave him, Rodney's arm is hurting and he's tired, he had bad dreams last night about looking down John's gun, the complete blank lack of recognition on John's face haunting him. But, he hadn't been seeing Rodney, it wasn't John's fault. Still sure felt like he'd been shot on purpose. Rodney waits for the anger and frustration to fade, watching the hobbits reach Bree. Aragorn is very attractive, Rodney always likes it when he shows up in the movie. He's telling Frodo about the Nazgul when Rodney's door beeps and opens and John comes back in. 

“Where did you go?” Rodney asks.”You're back?”

“I went for food, like I said,” John says. He looks genuinely a bit confused and he seems to be OK, still dry. He sits on the bed and flops back next to Rodney. “Oh, Aragorn. Nice.”

“You weren't in the canteen,” Rodney says. 

“Yeah, everyone was being weird. Doctor Kahn is working on the jumpers this week I took him a sandwich and crashed his party,” John says, leaning into Rodney’s space and examining his tray, stealing the popcorn. “I like this bit with the apples. We should instigate second breakfast, make it protocol. If we call it something like Pegasus Protocol 337 and abbreviate it to PP337 and just slide it in the next report I bet it’ll go over fine. Just say something like ‘PP337 has been activated and will be running from the 3rd of June’.”

“I thought you’d run off again,” Rodney says, ignoring the food thievery and rambling; John’s trying to distract him. His frustration is making him single minded. 

John shrugs, pretending to be focussed on the movie. He looks tired and sort of hollowed out, expression far more open than usual, like he’s too weary to even hide his sadness. Rodney feels a soft kind of pity, which curdles in his stomach. He puts his food and coffee aside and lies down, curling up on top of the covers. John sprawls where he flopped, watching the laptop screen with unfocused eyes, not looking at Rodney. 

“My arm hurts,” Rodney says. John closes his eyes, hands twitching. “When I close my eyes I see you staring down a gun at me.”

“I couldn’t save Lyle,” John says. He's intense, pushing words out, and his tone demands Rodney’s focus. “There’s a lot of people I haven’t been able to save, I’ve lost a lot of friends, family, people I’ve loved. But I’ll tell you something for nothing, Rodney, I’m not losing you.”

“You shot me,” Rodney says, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

John doesn’t reply. He never is good at saying things out loud, he never finds the things to say that Rodney needs to hear. Not that there’s anything, now, that’ll help. That’ll make the images and dreams go away. Just as there’s nothing Rodney can say that will change the reality of John losing another dead friend for a second time. 

“I love you,” John says, and maybe, afterall, there is something to say. “I will do anything to keep you safe. You think I wouldn’t do… wouldn’t give… anything. Everything.”

Rodney listens to the movie playing on in the background, lying still. John inches closer, and when Rodney doesn’t tell him to fuck off or move away, John curls up against his side, arm across Rodney’s chest, forehead pressed to Rodney’s shoulder. They lie in silence until the end-credits. John gets up to do his teeth and bring Rodney painkillers, water, helps him lever himself up to get ready for bed. 

“I love you,” John says, again, back in bed, lights out.

He’s creeping into Rodney’s space again, like a cat looking for warmth. Rodney slowly shuts his eyes, forcing his breathing even. There’s just darkness waiting for him to sink into, enveloping him. Nothing’s lurking there, nothing waiting to get him. No cold-eyed John with a gun. Just welcoming, friendly darkness. He feels safe, warm, as he drifts off to sleep he can feel John’s arm around him, feel John’s breath against his skin, feel John. He finds that he still trusts it; John will save him. 

He wakes to the quiet sounds of John trying to keep his crying silent. He’s not in bed, he’s sat on the edge, gripping the mattress, bent and rocking a little with each wave of grief. Rodney, who hasn’t dreamt at all, scrambles up and wraps himself around John, pressing close. John makes a strangled sound and pulls up a hand to his face, pressing his fist against his mouth to smother some awful sound trying to claw out of him. Rodney pulls and shifts until John can push his face into Rodney’s shoulder. John shakes his head, but it’s getting out, awful painful sounding noises wrenching through them both. There’s nothing easy about this kind of crying, it’s all jagged edges and sharp gasps, uncomfortable and violent, John’s forehead bruising against Rodney’s skin. His breaths come shudderingly hard. 

“It’s alright,” Rodney says, confident now that it really is alright. “Just, I don’t know, hang onto me and it’ll pass.”

He doesn’t know if John can hear him, but he slowly calms until he sound less like he’s drowning and choking and more like he’s breathing. Rodney sighs, rubbing over John’s back and shoulders, shifting against until they’re lying down. John’s already asleep, going limp in Rodney’s arms before they’re horizontal, head heavy against Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney lies awake for a little longer, listening until John’s breath no longer hitches, until the tension held in his arms and shoulders bleeds out into the mattress, until his arm snakes unconsciously around Rodney’s waist to bring him in closer as he drifts off too.

**Author's Note:**

> my friend makes her descriptions in italics how the hell you do that?? well I'll ask her when human beings are awake. Is currently v late.


End file.
